


Temptation

by Vehn



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Gay, Gay Chicken, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Yaoi, undertaker x vincent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vehn/pseuds/Vehn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent Phantomhive goes to visit the Undertaker, but leaves with more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> One shot! No more! K thanks bye xD
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I really do love this pairing in the Kuroshitsuji world, they really work for me and I love how it's implied in the most recent chapters. Vincent isn't Undertaker. sssssssshhhhhhhh

Typical London fog hangs over the city as it usually does on dreary days. In almost every nook and cranny one could see the thick mass, touch it almost if they so much wished. The thicket mopes everywhere but separates for those whom dare to cross its path, to be so bold as to tread over it with the confidence that it does not bring such harsh premonitions for a terrible future. 

The capable foot of Earl Phantomhive crushes the clouds that have fallen to London, a letter tucked away into his coat and his objectives in mind. He stops before the shop he's stopped before many times, taking in the dirtied sign that reads, Undertaker. The earl smiles to himself as memories of the odd shopkeeper float through his mind, such an odd man for such a gruesome job, but someone the mortician keeps a jolly air to his persona with that undeniable undertone of unease.

Vincent Phantomhive pushes open the door striding inside to see the Undertaker himself looming behind his desk, that head of silken silver hair blending in yet standing out of a dark atmosphere. 

"Undertaker," Vincent calls, as if crying out to a child mischievously playing hide and seek, "Are you in?"

The man in question pops up with a smile, mimicking a demented Jack in the Box, leaning across the counter with a dumb smile on his face, "Always in for you earl, least I miss one of those parties of yours. They are always so entertaining."

Vincent smirks at the Undertaker's use of 'party' for 'under world meeting' as he sheds his coat, tossing it atop a freshly polished coffin, making his way to the counter, "No parties yet, Mr. Undertaker, I have a murder to fix for her majesty."

"A mystery." The Undertaker coos to himself, skimming his long nails over the wood of the desk, "And murder. Seems right up your ally, Mr. Earl."

Vincent smirks, "As always, but this time the attacker seems to be focusing on German immigrants. A political jab of course, but obviously taken too far. The Yard hates my presence and has done an excellent job to cleaning up the crime scenes before I can so much as investigate and they're not cooperating with me. You know how Randall is. But I do know where those bodies end up."

Undertaker smiles knowingly, his posture straightening as he leans across his counter further, meeting the earl's deep brown eyes through his thicket of light grey hair, "Yes, I know which of what you speak of Earl, question is, if you want me involved."

The Queen's Guard Dog leans over the counter, evening the Undertaker's unseen stare, "You know just as well as I do with the cooperation of the Yard these days I need you more than ever. Name your price, I'll gladly pay."

Silence consumes them briefly, the Undertaker pondering what he wishes for payment as Vincent plucks off his gloves, slipping his rings back onto his fingers. His slender brown eyes bear into the shop owner's hidden eyes, although the earl has caught glimpses of green from underneath the mass of hair here and there. Patience never has been one of Vincent's virtues the earl smiles charismatically, that alluring grin decadent on his beautiful face. For Vincent is a rarity among men, not only is his lean, attractive and strong but he is beautiful with his long blue black deep grey hair, almond shaped and coloured eyes. His face is long and slender with a narrow jaw line and delicately strong facial features. Being an earl he dresses in the finest clothes and always smells of his wealth. That skin that covers his body is soft and pure and that smile could unarm anyone, even the retired death god lingering before him.

Undertaker smirks, his eyes scanning Vincent as the man fiddles with a large blue ring on his index finger. Something about someone such as Vincent Phantomhive strikes his fancy somewhere inside him. He's heard of other nobles, male and female, all envious of Rachel Phantomhive, wife of the earl, due to her marriage to him. So many people wish to be by Vincent's side, to have the chance to maybe sway the earl's heart.

He now knew his price.

"I'll tell you what earl," Undertaker starts, his creaky voice breaking the silence, "On those bodies were odd scratches made after death. That is your free bit of information."

Anger briefly flashes through Vincent's eyes as he leans closer, the breath of the Undertaker catching in his throat, "And the price for knowing the rest of the information?"

That signature grin spreads over what's exposed of Undertaker's face as he can't help but notice how close he and his payment are, his vice is, "Show me a good time, and you'll have all the information you need."

The earl blinks back, his slender eyes wide with slight astonishment, "Well not something I'd expect out of you, but," he shrugs, "Payment is payment I suppose. I know of some prostitutes that may suit your fancy Mr. Undertaker I think I could have one or two of them…"

"I care not for women." Undertaker interrupts, his eyes unable to pry themselves from the beautiful earl.

"Money then?" Vincent guesses, "It is not object to me, my friend. Name your price and I will pay."

"I care not for money, earl." He exhales, the density of such an intelligent man beginning to annoy yet entrance him, "If you honestly think money is the means of payment I request then you are sadly mistaken. Perhaps I should just give you the information for free; although that's presuming that I pay up."

Vincent narrows his eyes, digging his nails into his palms, "Just tell me your price, Undertaker, and I will pay you."

That grin toys the Undertaker's lips as a hand gently slides atop Vincent's, "Show me love, earl. And I'll tell you everything you need to solve this case."

Colour drains from Vincent's features as he slumps over the counter slightly, "Surely you must be joking."

"Do you take me for a liar?"

Swallowing his immense pride the reality of the situation settles in. Vincent sheds his coat, nor caring where it landed on the floor as he ruffles his hair out of nerves for he's never kissed a boy since he was a teenager fooling around in a friendly game of dares. He crosses around to Undertaker's side of the desk, bracing himself as he leans on the counter again, "So. How do we go about this?"

"You tell me, earl, you are the one paying me." Undertaker grins, the smile wider than the Cheshire cat, his hands itching to touch the earl, his body ready for Vincent's touch.

Vincent exhales, his face slowly burning crimson as he steps closer, a hand draping on Undertaker's shoulder as the other wraps a hand around the earl's back. He stares at Undertaker, at the vast mess of hair splayed on the mischievous man's face, the feel of his shoulder surprisingly sturdy and strong.

"Shall you or I, earl?" Undertaker inquires, his patience thinning as he loops a hand around the earl's neck.

"I shall." Vincent whispers as he leans close, then closer, meeting Undertaker's lips sweetly and gently, not wanting to make any sudden moves or dive in off the deep end.

A rush hits Undertaker, the taste of Vincent Phantomhive on him almost too much to bear, so exhilarating knowing that this is forbidden yet what he wants. He leans in further, allowing the kisses to deepen; pressing his lips further into Vincent's discovering the earl's body inching closer, his hands cupping the back of Undertaker's neck. Instincts start to take over as Undertaker slides a hand down Vincent's side, feeling the earl's muscles react to his touch causing him to smile softly into the earl's lips.

He feels fingers toy with his long hair, winding it around and around, playfully tugging down then allowing the long silver locks to flow back down their owner's back. Undertaker moans quietly at the luxury of such a man to mess with his hair, the feeling almost overwhelming, his fingers digging into Vincent's sides, forcing the two closer, their chests pressed against one another. Vincent takes this as a good sign, freeing a hand to run it down Undertaker's back, his fingers still mindlessly playing with the man's hair, his ring becoming entangled. Without a second thought the earl allows the ring to fall to the ground, not caring of it's worth despite it being a rare blue diamond.

Undertaker's tongue skims Vincent's bottom lip, his teeth inhaling it, nipping it a bit before releasing it to explore the earl further. The earl gasps with a suppressed groan as he tugs on the long hair harder, kissing more passionately, a fire building in his chest longing for this man's touch. Slowly lowering Vincent onto the counter Undertaker sneaks atop him, his longer fingers running up and down his torso, the clothes beneath his fingers suddenly seeming too thick.

The earl's fingers dig into the other man's back as he kisses down his jaw tauntingly, leading a trail down his neck, stopping to bite here and there before popping open a button, his mouth lingering over the exposed skin, "…I could tell you the information now you know."

Vincent's heavy breathing sounds for a while, "But I have to show you love."

Undertaker continues to kiss the earl's neck, savoring the taste of soft skin, "Yes, the question is, do you want to?"

"It-it is the price for the information, is it not?" Vincent gasps, a hand cradling the back of Undertaker's head as he continues to explore the earl's neck.

Undertaker smiles into Vincent's smooth skin, his fingers tracing odd patterns on the earl's back, "Indeed. It is."

He brings them together again, that passion raging through them, something   
snapping between them, a small spark setting off a larger reaction causing the two to loose one another in themselves. Vincent's blouse is unbuttoned as Undertaker's covering is shed, displaying many scars, tangible memories of what he once was. The earl's fingers brush over them, gently with care as he pulls away, those deep brown eyes scanning the expose chest atop him, each large and thick etched with obvious pain. His able hands run over the past as he meets those deep green eyes of Undertaker, "What have you been through?" he whispers.

Undertaker smiles, guiding Vincent's hand elsewhere, "Nothing I wish to recount."

He kisses him in an attempted silence until they are broken again, "No. Tell me."

"You would never believe me, earl."

"Try me."

Exhaling he sits up, pulling the earl into his lap, his hands taunting his pant line as he emits another exhausted sigh, "How much do you know about death gods?"

Vincent shakes his head, "Not much…you're talking about grim reapers, right?"

Undertaker nods, pecking his lips and sliding off the table, crossing the room to a large curtain, sweeping it back to reveal a large death scythe gleaming in its former glory, "I haven't used it in ages but…I figured this is as close to proof as I can give you."

He takes his old friend into his hands, giving it a good swing through the air, Vincent jumping back a bit at the large blade before Undertaker places it back on the wall, a fond smile on his lips, "Ah, it's been so long…"

Slowly Vincent approaches the scythe, the large piece of weaponry elegant yet haunted with a terribly large blade attached to a gnarled staff with smaller intricate designs one would only notice if they so much were able to look close enough. His fingers gingerly touch it, the feel like wood, "It's beautiful," he breathes, ", why did you retire?"

"Wouldn't you tire after a while, earl?" Undertaker sighs, resting his head on Vincent's shoulder, "Besides, I'm already a legend, once you've attained glory what more is this life anyways?"

The words spoken touch Vincent, his hand leaving the scythe to encircle Undertaker's waist, "How old are you, exactly?"

"I've been here a while, why put a number on it?"

A laugh escapes him, "That long, eh?"

He shrugs, "Time blurs after a while. Besides, they don't need me anymore."

"They? There are more?" 

Smirking, Undertaker nods, "Indeed, many of us, mostly we stay in the shadows but there are a few of us whom like a lot of mischief. But, it seems the Spears brat has that wreck under some sort of control these days…"

Another laugh leaves Vincent's lips, "So you grim reapers work like a business, how curious."

"One could say that." Undertaker muses, reaching over, pulling the thick curtains over his past life, "But, there are times I miss it and times I don't. Everything in life is fair game, everyone in life is as well…but you, Vincent, are mine."

The earl looks to his side, the deep green eyes of a death god lingering inches from his, that attraction between them sparking up again inside him, tempting him with forbidden thoughts, "Whatever do you mean by that, grim reaper?"

A curious smile peels back the reaper's face as he takes Vincent into his arms, whirling him into the coffin lying by their feet, one he had been working on for a rather tall gentleman whom had suffered heart failure. Just the size for the two stacked atop one another. He guides the earl's hands above his head, those eyes flickering with excitement as Vincent's dark eyes gleam with a challenge as their mouths meet, melting one another together, drowning into the confusion and passion that dwells inside them.

...

Sweat clings to his bangs as he opens his eyes from the few brief moments he had them closed, never has he ever felt that way before. Part of him thinks it's a dream while the other knows that it could be nothing less, for here he lies beside the man who asked for love as payment. He sighs, there's no turning back now.

"So, Earl Phantomhive, are you ready for the information now?" Undertaker inquires, his usual aloof voice strangely alluring.

Vincent sighs, his body now absorbing the physical pain of their past events. He tightens his hold on Undertaker's scarred torso, "Have I shown you love? Is my payment fulfilled?"

The death god sits upright in the coffin he led the two of them into, gently stroking the earl's dark grey locks with his long fingers, "As much as I'd like to explore love further with you, Earl Phantomhive, I know that you have shown me love…I didn't expect any emotions from this but yes, your payment is fulfilled."

Vincent pecks Undertaker's lips, "Then tell me."

He sighs, not wanting his earl to leave his shop just to be welcomed home by that wretched wife of his, "The German immigrants, all had marks and wounds on them inflicted to make it look like they were done after death when in reality they were done before death or right before. But there were some odd marks like a cult stamp carved into their chests above the heart. Three lines across with a star in that, every single body was like that."

His lips meet his again, "Thank you." Vincent murmurs, kissing him again, "And as much as I hate to admit it…I must return home…Rachel will be worried and I must put Ciel to bed."

Undertaker smirks, his finger poking a large bruise on Vincent's neck slowly growing darker, "You may want to cover up some of the damage I left. Least the missus gets suspicious."

A laugh slips from Vincent as he stands, tugging on his clothes while Undertaker mimics him, dressing a bit faster than the pampered aristocrat, looming behind him with his coat. Vincent slides his arms into the coat as Undertaker guides it up to his shoulders, tricking him into a few more blissful moments together.

Vincent fixes an odd tangle in Undertaker's long hair, a thoughtful look in his eye, "Would you like to meet my son, Mr. Undertaker?"

...

Darkness covers the Phantomhive home aside from the indoor lights casting visible light upon those whom need it. The head of the house hesitates before the large door, his gloved hand lingering as he glances back at his guest and newly acquired lover, "Please, try to act normal. He's…a bit shy."

The mortician nods, that signature smile reeking of mischief as he trails behind Vincent whom shoves open the door, calling out, "I'm home!"

Suddenly a small child darts down the main stairs, his small legs propelling him as fast as possible as he leaps into his father's arms, "Dad!"

Laughing Vincent catches his son, rising from a kneeling position to hold him as he surveys his only child, a young boy about the age of ten with his hair and similar face. The boy has his mother's large blue eyes and most of her facial features but Vincent and his son share the same smile and hair. His small heart shaped face beams at his father as his mother, Rachel, finally makes her way down the stairs. Her eyes immediately settle on Undertaker, disappointment flooding her delicate features.

"Who's that?" Ciel Phantomhive asks, his small finger pointing at Undertaker whom shoots the boy a toothy grin.

"He's my friend, Ciel, can you be polite and introduce yourself?" Vincent inquires as he sets Ciel down, who only sneaks behind his father's legs only to be nudged away in return.

Undertaker sinks into a knee, becoming eye level with the boy. As he stares at the boy he can't help but be overwhelmed with a sense of dread, something about this child screams misfortune and pain. Not in his outwardly appearance or in his soul but in his aura, the intuitive feeling a death god can divulge into from a human's cinematic record.

Ciel takes a small step towards his father's friend, his large blue eyes surveying him with great detail before he smiles, "Hello Mr. Undertaker, my name's Ciel."

He grins, patting the top of the boy's head, "Hello Ciel, how do you do?"

"Good. It's my birthday today! I get to do whatever I want!" He replies proudly, those large eyes intoxicating and innocent, a pair of hands reaching down to pick him up and cradle him in his arms.

Rachel casts Undertaker an unfriendly glare before snapping back to her husband, "I told you, no work in the house unless…"

"Rachel, it's not work, we're friends." Vincent assures her with a disarming smirk and a peck on the cheek.

She narrows her eyes before kissing Vincent's lips briefly, "I'll discuss this with you later."

Turning on her heel her skirts swish about her ankles as she saunters towards the stairs, Undertaker gifting Ciel a grand smile whom still stares back at them from behind his mother's shoulder, "Happy Birthday, Ciel."

He smiles in a silent thank you before Rachel exits the room, leaving the two alone to their thoughts. Undertaker takes Vincent's chin under his fingers stealing a deep kiss, "You have a family to return to tonight, Earl Phantomhive, I have kept you to myself enough."

Vincent nods, his eyes staying on the ground, "I wish it hadn't ended…I never thought I would…"

"Feel something?" 

His almond eyes immediately meet the hidden ones of the death god, he reaches up to Undertaker's face sweeping the long grey bangs from his face displaying his sultry light green eyes and chiseled face. A thumb gently strokes his cheek as he kisses Undertaker one last time for the night, "You took the words from me." He murmurs against his lips, "As you have my heart. I hope to do business with you again, Mr. Undertaker."

For once in his long life a genuine smile forms his lips, one that doesn't mimic the Cheshire cat or a strange man whom runs a death shop, but the one of the man whom lies beneath, the man whom has possibly started to fall in love with Vincent Phantomhive. 

...

That typical London fog settles over the city again, as it always does in the December months. It hangs everywhere over everything not so much allowing the chance for sunlight to ever compete for a spot. The thick, grey surrounds everything and seems to hang lower to the ground than usual, as if the city itself were mourning. His feet scuffle across his own shop as the door open, two men carrying in bodies for him to reconstruct. They slap the corpses onto the table, the mortician looming over them ready for a day's work.

The taller of the men wipes his forehead, a paleness encompassing his skin as he reflects upon the bodies. With a shake of his head he bows his head in a sign of respect, "Horrible how they died, I do wish you luck with these, Undertaker." A stifled sob escapes him, "…the child…not even in the ashes."

Undertaker frowns, moving around the table to get a look for himself, his boot stepping atop something. Glancing down he moves his foot back to see a brilliant blue ring set in silver on the wooden floor. Stooping down he plucks it from the ground, observing the deep blue reminding him of Vincent's child. A smile threatens him as his mind recounts last night's events with the Earl of Phantomhive, lost in one another, claiming one another. What he wouldn't give to have him in his arms again.

He places the ring on his own index finger as Vincent had worn it, now he has an excuse to summon the earl into his arms once more. Untying the drawstring at the top of the bags he starts to shed the covering, "Come now, I've seen many violent deaths good sir, how bad can it…" his eyes lay on the boy, his heart sinking at first then rising.

Rachel Phantomhive.

The man inhales shakily, "I'll leave you to it then."

The door shutting sounds, Undertaker taking in the woman's features, her wounds. On her doll like face are many cuts and bruises, one on the upper right cheek showing that she fell, judging by the colour and the huge gash in her chest she fell after death or in the final moments. A few cuts and lacerations colour her skin red, her pretty silky nightdress a deep crimson. Her large blue eyes stare at nothing as his fingers gently sweep them shut, moving her so that he may look at the other body.

A lump forms in his throat, the other body. He closes his eyes slightly, praying to himself that the next body will be anyone but him. Those long fingers of his undo the strings, and peel back the black material, his worse fears confirmed. There on his table lies the man whom had been there mere hours earlier, just differently. A tightness takes hold of his neck as he sees just how violently his Vincent had died.

He stoops over his deceased, a hand gently tracing Vincent's face, the dried blood scratchy on his fingers. The tightness blossoms to his chest as he falls to his knees, his hands grasping Vincent's gouged chest for support as sorrow falls from him. Ragged breathes somehow create themselves and escape him, he takes a tighter grip on Vincent, the smell of a fire lingering on his nightshirt.

Jerking the ring from his finger Undertaker kisses it, taking Vincent's left hand in his, gingerly returning it to its owner, kissing the back of his hand before slamming his fist into the table. A cry dwells inside him, bursting out into the open as his sorrow flows more freely.

"Bastard…" he sobs, his voice not sounding like his own, "You humans are so delicate…you are so beautiful. Why? How could you leave me…"

His fingers stroke Vincent's soft hair as they had last night as he cries for the first time in hundred of thousands of years, the emotion he had bottled inside him that he labeled as potential love.

"You only had one soul." He whispers through tears, "I thought it was mine."


End file.
